


a kingdom of desolation

by goblinjammy (mayerwien)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Frozen (2013) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Fili is King Under the Mountain, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1248745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayerwien/pseuds/goblinjammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do the magic, Fee," Kili begs. Fili thrusts his arms into a snowbank, all the way up to the elbow. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and pushes—and the snow giant rises up, slow and rumbling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a kingdom of desolation

When something goes _thump_ on Fili’s pillow in the middle of the night, he rolls over, eyes flicking open at once. His uncle taught him to be alert at all times. _Even when you are asleep,_ he said as they circled one another in the training hall, and he moved in to swing his wooden practice sword down. _It’s when you are sleeping that your enemies attack._

But it’s not an enemy; it’s Kili, waving his little bow and begging to go outside and play. Grinning, Fili dresses quickly and races his brother out the door.

The moon is bright on the Blue Mountain, and the wind is gentle. Fili feels the cool snow crunching under his boots, and the pull is too strong for him to resist; he kicks the boots off and sighs happily as he sinks in up to his ankles.

“Do the magic, Fee,” Kili begs, hopping from one foot to the other. Fili thrusts his arms into a snowbank, all the way up to the elbow. He can feel the singing cold welling up inside him. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and _pushes._

The snow giant rises up, slow and rumbling. It’s not much taller than an adult dwarf, but Kili still whoops in delight. His first arrow misses—but his second goes straight through the giant’s soft shoulder, and the whole arm falls to the ground with a _plop_. Determined to get him back, Fili flicks his fingers, and a snowball flies up and hits Kili in the face.

And then Thorin appears and demands to know what under the earth is going on, but Kili gives him such a (well-rehearsed) pleading look that he softens almost at once. He picks the dwarfling up and swings him around, declaring that it is bedtime for the little rapscallion, to which Kili replies that he is not a lascaplion, and he is not tired at _all._

Five minutes later, when Kili is sound asleep against his uncle’s shoulder and they are climbing the steps back into the hall, Thorin looks down at Fili and says quietly, “I thought I told you not to use your magic in front of other dwarves.”

“But you’re not other dwarves,” Fili says. “You’re Uncle and Kili.”

Thorin glances sharply at him—that sort of logic never did sit well with him. “Someone could see you by accident. We’ve talked about this, Fili. We cannot risk our people turning against you because they fear something they do not understand.”

 _You’re the one who doesn’t understand,_ Fili nearly shouts, but then Thorin continues. “I was watching you earlier. That snowball could have seriously hurt your brother. Did you think about that?”

He didn’t. Fili thinks of what it feels like, all that cold bubbling up inside of him, and swallows. “But I can control—“

“You _think_ you can control it. But the fact of the matter is, there has never been anyone like you among our people. No one knows what you can and cannot do.”

Then his uncle sighs and lays a heavy hand on his head. “I know you’re special, Fili,” he says gently. “And I know it's difficult for you. But you will be King under the Mountain one day, and the Khazad will look to you. It is not your magic they will depend on, but your strength, your courage, and your love for them. Remember that.”

And then they are at Kili’s bedroom, and Thorin tucks him in and bids Fili good night. The way they do not speak of it again makes what is expected of him crystal clear.

\--

Outside of his lessons, Fili stays in the library and pores through as many history books and scrolls as he can find. There are a lot of difficult words he can’t understand, but he knows the words ‘magic’, ‘ice,’ and ‘snow’ well enough to know they aren’t in there.

The only mentions he can find are a bit of an old nursery rhyme— _When they taste the threat of snow / Across the land the dragons go,_ which seems pretty useless to Fili, of course dragons would flee from snow—and something in “A General History of Dwarves” that says dwarves are naturally hardy folk, able to withstand extreme temperatures better than other races, which he knew already.

 _Maybe you’re cursed,_ a small, nasty voice whispers. _Why do you think there hasn’t been anyone like you in the entire history of the Khazad?_

I’m not cursed. I’m _not._

_Then why do you think your uncle doesn’t want you to use your magic? He’s afraid of you._

He’s not afraid. I’m not dangerous,Fili thinks stubbornly. He’s just doing what he thinks is right.

But Fili knows he can’t just _stop._ And if he wants to go on—he won’t be able to share it with Kili anymore. His brother can’t keep a secret any more than Olliphaunts can fly.

So he only practices his magic when he is taking a walk outside, alone. And the next time Kili asks him to play, he lies. Says the power left him, that it was never meant to be permanent.

To his credit, Kili doesn’t believe him at first. Fili has to pretend to prove it, hold out his hands and screw up his face like he’s trying hard, while really he’s holding it back with all his might.

The disappointment is clear on Kili’s face. But he bucks it up and smiles. “It doesn’t matter,” he says stoutly. “You’re good at a lot of other things.”

“Like what,” asks Fili wearily, sinking into a chair.

“Swordfighting. Poetry. Running fast... And you braid good.”

He stares, and then bursts out laughing. “Thanks, Kee.” He punches his brother lightly on the shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

\--

“But I can come _with_ you.” Fili scowls deeply, sheathing his sword.

Thorin stops and turns to face him. “Someday you will fight for Ered Luin, Fili, but not today. I need you here.” He reaches out and presses something into his nephew’s hand. Fili uncurls his fingers to find a small silver hair ornament—one of Thorin’s own. “Be strong. Be good. And if anything happens—”

“No!” Fili pulls away violently.

“If anything happens,” Thorin persists firmly, “look after them.”

Shakily, he nods. He promises.

Thorin grasps Fili’s shoulders and pulls him close. “I’ll be home soon,” he says roughly, then stands and with a rallying cry, begins to lead his army out of the gate.

He isn’t.

\--

Fili has an oak tree planted outside the gate of the city. At its foot there is a wide flat stone. It takes him forever to think of words to carve on it. Of any words that could possibly be enough. Finally, he decides on something simple.

_Remember all who pass through here_

_Thorin, son of Thrain—_

_No greater King under the Earth_

_Shall ever rule again._

He digs the hole himself, alone. As he lowers the sapling into it, ice begins to flower unbidden from his hands. He gasps and draws back, but it is too late—the bark on one side has turned to little glassy chips. A transparent leaf falls off and splinters against the rock.

He scrapes the ice off with his knife and tries to forget about it. But three days later, when he freezes the water in his wash basin—and the basin itself—Fili swallows and tastes fear, hard and acid, in the back of his throat.

The next morning, he goes into the city and orders a pair of mithril gloves from Dwalin Strongarm. Thankfully, the blacksmith is not in the habit of asking questions.

And then it is his coronation day, and he is pacing his bedroom in his new blue robes. The fingers of his gloves are form-fitted, so he has no trouble braiding first his beard, then his hair. Finally, he clips Thorin’s hair ornament onto the end of his braid. He can feel its small weight swinging there as he gets up to answer the knock at the door, and allows old Balin, his uncle’s—no, _his_ adviser now—to lead him into the great hall.

**Author's Note:**

> So hi everyone, it's time to unveil the big fanfic project I've been working on! I'm not making this one adhere very strictly to the plot or dynamics of Frozen; it's got some similar elements but is not an exact translation. Kinda hoping no one's thought of this crossover yet--but if you have, then that's great and more power to you! 
> 
> Updating will be slow, I'm afraid, as I'm not done with the whole thing yet and I've got a co-author who is extremely busy at the mo. But it will be finished, we promise! So yup let us know what you think and stay tuned; we've got a few surprises up our mithril sleevies. ;D


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